The Maid
by UniverseOfMirrors
Summary: Carmen is far too busy studying and planning to take care of herself, so Ophelia is hired to do it for her. But, Carmen is not interested in giving up control.
1. Arrival

"Last name," a blue clad henchman drawled from behind a makeshift desk.  
"Gallagher."  
"First name." The same bored tone. Obviously this man didn't like his job. That was no encouragement.  
"Ophelia."  
"Purpose for visitation."  
Ophelia looked around. As far as the eye could see in any direction, a vast, frozen tundra sprawled. Light snow was falling, and despite the harsh sunlight, temperatures, she was sure, were dropping below freezing point.  
"I'd like to rent a room," She replied sarcastically. The henchman looked up as Ophelia felt a slight breeze on the back of her neck. She turned her collar up against the wind and made eye contact with the lackey once more. He was giving her the oddest look...  
Suddenly, a deep, feminine voice reverberated behind her back and she stiffened.  
"No vacancy."  
Slowly, Ophelia turned to face an imposing figure clad in scarlet. She had never expected to meet the great woman so early on in her carrier (if you could call it that, seeing as it looked to be over in a second). Every so slowly, Ophelia shifted her gaze upward, momentarily coming to rest on a pair of beautiful blue eyes. It was quite obvious that security cameras would never do that face justice. An eyebrow was raised by the intimidating party.  
"Sorry...Ma'am." The girl whispered. After hearing her own faint croak, Ophelia felt ashamed at her momentary cowardice. But, before she could come up with a proper follow up, the master of mischief had disappeared.  
"I think that counts as your initiation," the henchman said, holding out a hand. "Welcome to the crew. I wouldn't make myself at home too soon if I were you."  
Ophelia pursed her lips.  
"May we go inside?" The snow was starting to swirl harder, a blizzard looking to approach soon.  
"Yeah, I guess. You can meet the rest of us."

The pair pulled open the heavy metal door leading to the inside of the development and walked briskly inside. Once they were safely within the warmth of the complex, Ophelia felt free to rid herself of her insulating garments. She stripped off her white coat and stomped the snow out of her boots. The man with her cleared his throat.

"This way," he said, and motioned towards another door. They walked on. The main corridor was not far from their starting point. It was painted an industrial blue-grey, matching the utilitarianism of the metal doors and hinges.

"Everything looks so..." Ophelia began, "sanitary."

"That's the way she likes it. The boss lady can't afford to get sick."

"She'd miss out on a lot of opportunities," the girl agreed.

"Not to mention," the man lowered his voice, "A few of these less loyal meatheads might not mind her incapacitated. Her deathbed is an opportunity for them." Ophelia shuddered slightly and creased her eyebrows, already feeling a sense of loyalty to a boss she had yet to formally meet. She assumed that first time didn't count.

Ophelia's impromptu guide pointed out doors on the trek down the hallway.

"Kitchen, bathroom, cleaning storage, artifact storage, vehicle storage, laundry room, sleeping quarters, eating quarters..."

Ophelia had lost track by the second closet, but she listened with half an ear all the same.

"You'll be wanting to remember this one. This is the lounge, we call it. Carmen's highest socialize here in their off hours. This is where I leave you."

"I'm one of her highest?" The henchmen cracked a smile.

"Do you have any idea what you're getting into?"

"I guess not," Ophelia said under her breath as she pushed open the door.

She was met by a group roar.

"It's the new girl!"

"It's the maid!"

"Maid?" a male voice piped up, "I thought she was getting a misst-"

"Shut it, Al," Ophelia heard a heavily accented voice, though this time, definitely female.

"What's her name?" One man turned to the other and asked.

"I dunno, Moe, why don't you, I don't know...ask her!" The large man turned to Ophelia.

"What's your name?"

"What's it to you?" the girl replied harshly.

"Watch it, sister." One man stood up his hair was greased back and he wore a tacky suit. "You're gonna be spending a lot of time with us. Might as well make us like you. I'll help," he extended his hand. "I'm Lars. Now you try."

"Ophelia," I grumbled. "Ophelia Gallagher."

"Nice to meet you, Ophelia," the room chorused.

"Nice to meet you too. Do any of you have an idea of what I'm supposed to be doing right now?"

A woman with short brown hair and silver safety goggles stood.

"You're Carmen's new...I don't know. Title comes later when she gets an idea of what she wants to do with you. You should probably seek her out. Bring her a drink."

"Thank you," Ophelia said politely, but her narrowing eyes betrayed her intuition. "What do you mean... wants to do with me?"

"She's not going to use you for target practice, if that's what you're worried about."

"I'm here to do the odd jobs, I thought."

"Define: odd job."

"I...I don't really know."

"Exactly, but I'll bet you my shrink ray that she knows exactly what she wants from you." A whistled cat call came from the back of the room, followed by another round of laughter at the new girl's expense. Ophelia tried to join in the laughter.

"They never get tired of the jokes, do they?" She asked amiably. Sara cocked her head. "They are joking, right?"

"You never know," the woman shrugged. "My name is Dr. Bellum. Sara, if I like you later. Let me show you the kitchen where you can fix the boss a drink."

"...Thanks."

"You are welcome."

"The man in blue showed me around a bit as well," Ophelia began as the pair exited the lounge. "He was nice. Do you know his name?"

"Name? Ha. They're a dime a dozen. They're the ones the ACME fools end up shipping off to prison. Don't bother with them. Anyone who's anyone was in that room. Also Carmen."

"Yeah, also she."

When they arrived at the kitchen, Sara bid her goodbyes.

"Wait!" The girl called after the receding figure. "What do I bring her?"

"Tea," Dr. Bellum called back.

Ophelia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Tea could work. She could do tea.

When the beverage had steeped, Ophelia placed the cup and saucer on a tray with some packets of sugar and a vial of honey. Everything was in such odd containers in that kitchen. A vial of honey... pfft. She shook her head and left.

Carmen's quarters were not hard to find. There was a steady flow of blue workers in and out of every door except for one. Pausing before the imposing door, Ophelia inhaled, smoothed down her hair, and pressed a wrinkle out of her shirt. Before she could think otherwise, she swung her weight into the heavy door...and fell right backwards. Of course, if had to be locked. That entailed another half and hour of finding someone with a skeleton key. And then the tea went cold.

One hour, two cups of tea, and three facepalming sessions later, Ophelia pushed open the door to the great thief's room. She had no idea what to expect, but judging by the appearance of the rest of the facility, she expected Carmen's room to at least bear some semblance of clean. That was quite far from the case. Spare surfaces were covered in either blueprints, ancient looking manuscripts, or pages printed from Carmen's own computer. And in the center of it all, the grand, majestic Carmen Sandiego sat in a red tee-shirt and cargo pants. Her hair was haphazardly tied back with a broken rubber band and there were ink blots on her hands. The woman was deep in thought. Ophelia felt like she had intruded on a private moment and at that moment, wanted nothing more than to back out, lock the door behind her, and run until she hit Hawaii. But, alas, she needed money, she needed housing, and if she was ever going to accomplish anything, she needed experience. Deciding boldness was the best option in these sorts of situations, Ophelia rapped thrice on the metal door. Carmen didn't budge. Taking the lack of violence as encouragement, she set the tray down next to her boss. Carmen paused and eyed the drink. She brought the cup to her lips and sipped delicately. WIthout affirmation or reproval, she went back to her work. Ophelia turned to leave. Before she could make her way completely out of the room, though, something hit her squarely on the back. Turning around to retrieve the missile, she picked the packet of sugar off the ground. With her hand on her hip, she looked at Carmen, who could almost be charged with a hint of a smile.

"For future reference, Ophelia, I take it black."

The girl nodded and left, closing the door behind her.

That wasn't so bad now, was it?

Oh who was she kidding, that was terrifying, and she didn't even know why. Perhaps it was the lack of clarity with which Carmen seemed to love to operate. What kind of a reaction was that? Was she in the clear? Should she never come back? Should she have brought coffee in the first place?

Ophelia ran back to the lounge. If she couldn't' get answers from Carmen, her henchies would have to provide some substitute.

"She gave you a tip for the future?" Hannah asked when the girl arrived at the meeting room. Ophelia nodded.

"You're good."

"I'm good?"

"Welcome to VILE, Ophelia. You've passed."


	2. Argumentation

Night fell quickly on the VILE hideout. Ophelia sat in the corner with a bag of chips and a cup of coffee, determined to stay up until Sara returned from her nightly lab work. The lounge was the perfect intersection at which Ophelia could intercept the mad scientist. Although the man in blue had pointed out sleeping areas on her little tour in the morning, he was referring to the "disposables," or "expendables," as the elite group called them. The core group had rooms branching off the central lounge. And, with any luck, Sara would soon come claim hers for the night. It was two more hours before Ophelia caught sight of her psychotic expression through tired eyes.

"Dr. Bellum, thank God."

"I heard you did well with her earlier, go thank her yourself."

"I need your help," Ophelia said, ignoring the side comment.

"What?"

"I don't have a room." Sara looked around and began to laugh.

"You mean nobody told you?"

"Told me what?" Ophelia's voice began rising in frustration and interested heads poked out around bedroom doors, each one grinning with the anticipation of knowing what the poor girl would soon be told.

"You sleep with Carmen," Sara said with a grin. And with that, the henchmen let loose.

"Did you hear that, Moe?" Al Loy shouted across the room, "One day and she's been sleeping with Carmen already!" He then focused his attention on Ophelia. "You must be pretty good."

Ophelia made a loud noise of disgust.

"And by sleeping with," Bellum raised her voice to clarify, "I mean in an adjacent room."

A collective "aw" echoed.

"You man I have to go back in there?"

"Get used to it, kid. It's your job now."

"Thanks for your help, Dr."

"Sara," she corrected, her voice rich with pity.

Ophelia nodded and left for Carmen's room. When she tried her key in the lock, however, it did not yield a second time.

"Oh, for God's sake!" Ophelia shouted and leaned against the door with a thump. At that moment, the door swung open and she fell into her boss's room.

"You called?" The silky smooth voice fell over the girl again.

"Isn't that my line or something?"

"Perhaps in the future. For now, I would suggest something along the lines of, 'May I have a key?'"

"Agreed."

Carmen tossed the shiny gold object at her.

"I had the lock changed after you came in the first time when I realized someone would have had to give you a key for you to get in. First rule of the night: nobody touches this key except for me, and now you. Clear?"

"As glass."

"Shall I list the consequences?" Carmen's room didn't have a window, but I remembered the vast, freezing tundra immediately outside the walls of the complex.

"Not necessary," Ophelia said hastily.

"Good," Carmen said with a smile in her voice, albeit missing one anywhere in her expression. "Your room is over there." She motioned towards a wooden door in the far side of the room. Her new maid began her beeline to her bedroom, but noticed something odd as she glanced at the analog clock on Carmen's bedside table. Exasperatedly, she sighed and faced her boss once more.

"It's 12:30 in the morning," she said, almost angrily. Carmen double checked the clock.

"You've proven to me that you can tell time in a non-digital age. And?"

"And you should go to bed."

"It's afternoon elsewhere?"

"What?"

"Did you not take geography? I said it's afternoon in a different time zone."

"We're not in a different time zone."

"We could be. We could be in thirty seconds if I so chose."

"Fine. Thirty seconds. I'll meet you in dreamland."

"You," Carmen huffed, "Are not my mother."

"And you," Ophelia scowled, "Are going to die from exhaustion. That's not a very fancy way to go, don't you think? After everything you've accomplished, to die at your desk?"

"Fine."

"Fine."

The pair stalked off to their different beds. When Ophelia opened the door to her room, she found that all of her luggage had been sorted and placed around the area appropriately. She didn't remember packing any of it.

As Ophelia fell asleep, she realized Carmen hadn't eaten dinner. She hadn't brushed her teeth. She hadn't brushed her hair. Come to think of it, if Ophelia were to go out right then, Carmen likely would not have been in her pajamas.

"It's like taking care of a three-year-old," she mumbled as she closed her eyes.

Ophelia's alarm rang at five in the morning - it hadn't been changed from her previous job before it left her apartment. With a tired shrug, she got out of bed. It seemed like a good waking time for this job too. After padding around her room, she found the door to a small bathroom. Space was lacking, but there was a shower, and for that, she was grateful.

At 5:32, Ophelia emerged from her room, showered, dressed, and almost ready for the day. Sneaking out of Carmen's bedroom, she was glad to see that the woman was still fast asleep in bed. As she gently closed the door behind her, she ran smack into Hannah Lulu.

"So?" Hannah asked eagerly, "How'd it go?" Ophelia shrugged.

"When I took the job, I thought I'd be doing chores for a grown woman, not taking care of a brilliantly stubborn child." Hannah patted her back sympathetically. "When does she normally wake up?"

"Frankly, I'm surprised you got her to go to sleep. That's one up in my book. What time did she go to sleep?"

"She got in bed at around 12:30, so I'm assuming she was asleep by one or 1:30."

"Carmen typically sleeps five hours a night, unless she's sick, injured, or bothered."

"I should go get her breakfast, then."

"Yeah, you go do that." Hannah scurried off before she could ask any more questions.

Ophelia scuffled down the halls to one of the two metal doors she remembered - the kitchen.

"Guys!" she shouted when she arrived. Her voice bounced off the sharp walls of the room. Everyone inside froze. "What does Carmen eat for breakfast?"

Softer voices guessed back.

"Cereal? Fruit?"

"Give her something with nutrition."  
"Give you poison."

"Right then," Ophelia scoffed, "I'll make it myself." She went around, openeing cabinets and gathering the ingredients for one of the only dishes she knew how to make. "Nutrition..." she murmured to herself. Deciding on a glass of milk, she dissolved a couple vitamin pills in the liquid. That would do.

"Pain perdu?" Carmen asked in a perfect French accent.

"If that means anything along the lines of cooked bread, yeah."

"Lost bread, actually," Carmen said distractedly, cutting squares out of the meal.

"The bread is fresh if you're nervous."

"I'm never nervous." Carmen sniffed it. "What's the smell? Did you watch it being cooked?"

"I made it myself. It's just plain French toast. You probably smell nutmeg." Carmen's eyes flashed.

"What?"

"Nutmeg, I sa-"

"It's not French toast. The original recipe was found in the tome, Aspicius, which is a collection of Latin foods."

"Alright, sorr-" Carmen went on.

"I would know that because I have personally cooked out of the book myself. And furthermore, the name it was assigned, Aliter Dulcia means "another sweet dish," making no reference to France nor toast, and-"

"Go back to sleep, Carmen," Ophelia interrupted. "I think you're still tired."

"You thought wrong. I'm just intelligent."

"Let's call it that for now. Drink your milk."

"I'm not hungry."

'You haven't even tasted the food!"

"I see no purpose, seeing as I'm not hungry." Ophelia took a deep breath and summoned her audacity.

"Carmen Sandiego, if you don't eat that food I will sit on your work until you do." Carmen raised an eyebrow.

"Cocky, are we?"

"Call it concerned."

"I can take care of myself." At that, Ophelia couldn't help but laugh.

"Carmen, Ma'am, how long have you been wearing that shirt?" Carmen thought for a moment.

"Irrelevant."

"If you say so," Ophelia said with a shrug. By this point, she knew her job was beyond on thin ice, or hot water, or whatever temperature conglomeration her boss preferred. A little risk taking could have interesting results. Without thinking, she walked right in front of Carmen, and sat on her desk, her body completely covering whatever Carmen was trying to read. Carmen growled.

And not just a grumble, Ophelia recounted to the group later, a full, deep throated growl, like that of a jungle cat.

And yet, she ate the food. She ate everything on the plate, and even drank some of the milk. Ophelia resisted the urge to praise her.

"Thank you," she said instead.

"Mm."

"We're going to get you cleaned up now." Carmen sighed and put her head in her hands, her dark hair falling as a curtain around her pale face.

"Go away," she groaned.

"In your dreams."

"Indeed, in my dreams! My most beautiful dreams!"

"That would require sleep, which you obviously don't get unless I'm here. So I stay, and you come with me."

"I'm not moving."

"Then I'm bringing clean to you." Within the course of ten minutes, Ophelia had gathered a basketful of supplies. When she held up a hairbrush, Carmen actually flinched. "I don't want to know when the last time was. Just sit still." Carmen picked up her book and tried to ignore the annoying woman tearing her hair out in clumps. When Ophelia reached a particularly tough know, though, Carmen cried out.

"Stop it!"

"You can't hang upside-down out of helicopters with your hair out and expect it to be healthy afterwards!"

"To hell with hair, I have more important things to do."

"I'm cutting it off."

"You're what?" She asked incredulously.

"If you don't brush your hair, I'll cut it off."

"But...I've always had long hair."

"Don't try me."

"Look," Carmen said, anger mounting, "I don't know who you think you are, but you have no right to march in here, push me around, and try to cut my hair. It's your second day. You have yet to learn the ropes, but let me show you a few right now. You. Do. Not. Cross. Me. You do not try me. You do not sass me. I am the boss and I tell you what to do."

"I would take that from anyone else, boss," Ophelia spat, "And until I met you, I would have taken it from you, but the only thing you've proven to me so far is that you're great at moving mountains, and you suck at brushing your teeth. You have the mind of a genius and the hygienic skills of a toddler. I don't know who you think you are, but you're not as great as you think you are. Learn to take care of yourself. Then yell at me again."

"Out." Carmen's voice was deathly low. She pointed to the door. Ophelia turned on her heel and left.

"Nobody is going to believe me," she told herself as she traipsed down the hallway.

"You what?" Chorused the henchmen as she relayed her story.

"I did."

"You're dead."

"Or jobless at least."

"It could have been worse."

"Could've been better."


End file.
